


Hey There

by Darkest_Day



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Obsessive Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkest_Day/pseuds/Darkest_Day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea of someone living forever, never dying, never aging, seems utterly impossible. He couldn't even wrap his mind around what that would be like, but when Arthur finds two pictures, hundreds of years apart, he can't deny it anymore. He is the Impossible Man, no matter what anyone else says, Arthur knows damn well that it's the same face in every picture, every drawing, and every flickering old film. And one day, he will find him, no matter the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nef/gifts).



> Um. So, here's a thing. I've seen this idea floating around Tumblr, and I've actually role played this with a friend (Hi there!) so I thought it would be pretty cool to write it out. It was really really fun to write. I came up with the barebones plot-line at work, and I just couldn't get it out of my head. So, enjoy this little collection of words on your screen, and if you enjoy it, I'd love to hear your thoughts or opinions. 
> 
> Happy reading~

It was raining. 

It had been raining for the last week, the ground was mushy, the concrete was dark, the trees were drooping. But he didn't really mind it, not like others did. He watched it run down the windows. He watched it trickle, he watched it gather on the windowsill. 

He turned back to the lesson, bored out of his skull and quite eager to get to walking home in the rain. Perhaps there was going to be a storm tonight. 

The textbook was open in front of him, the pages were wrinkled and he had left his pencil in the crease between the pages. If he thought about it, he could feel his pulse. And if he stayed still, he could see his skin beat with each pump of his heart. 

"Arthur!" The teacher snapped, he jolted, sitting upright. She have him a glare before continuing on, Arthur stared at the page before him before removing the pencil and flipping a few pages ahead. 

There was a picture, there, as there were in most textbooks. He studied it. There was a group of people standing together, the picture was old and faded, grainy with no colour. And in the picture, there was a face. A boy, must have been one of their son's or something, standing there in the middle of the group. He was not smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He just stood there, his hair was dark (probably), and a mess. He had cheekbones that stuck out of his face, and in the picture they stood out more than they should have. 

He found himself staring hard at the image, hard enough to not notice that someone was calling his name until she snapped a ruler against his desk. He jumped again, giving her a small bashful smile. He picked the pencil up off the floor, and turned his attention back to what she was saying. 

He didn't think of the stranger in the black and white photo for two weeks, when he was in another class, and in the book he saw him again. 

It was an old math book, and he wasn't even sure what the context of it was. But there he was again, but this book was printed in colour. The picture couldn't have been more than thirty years old, quickly he checked the back of the book, the front, to find the publish date. Thirty four years, then. As soon as class ended, he rushed to his locker to pull out the other book, and compared the two. 

Without a doubt in his mind, these two were the same man. 

He sat in the hall, both books open in his lap, staring down at them, comparing the shape of his ears, the slope of his neck, the shape of his face. He didn't even notice anyone was around him until Leon was sliding down the lockers to sit beside him. "Math and history, and you're trying to study both at once?" 

"History and math belong together." He replied absently, before looking up. "Oh, hi." Then he was pushing both books into Leon's lap. "Look at these. See him? And him? They're the same person. I swear it." 

"That's not possible, Arthur, don't be an--" but Leon was staring at the two pages, "wow, they do look a lot alike, don't they?" 

"They're the same person." 

"You, of all people, should know that's not possible." Leon said, passing the books back to Arthur. 

He knew quite well that it shouldn't have been possible, but they were the same damn person, he couldn't shake that. The feeling that he _knew_ that these two strangers were the same wouldn't leave his mind. 

That's when he began to search. He carefully took a razor blade to the pages, putting another stack of papers under it so he wouldn't cut through to the next page. He cut both pictures out of the books and kept them in a drawer. This was his last year, hopefully by the time anyone realized there were little rectangles missing he'd be long gone. 

But there had to be more, if he had found this boy in two different textbooks then there had to be more. He would prove it. He had to prove it. Of course, he had no idea where to start. 

Thankfully, Arthur knew many people of different ages. There was Gwen, who was a year younger than him. He asked her if he could take a look at some of her books. Instead, he went over to her house. He brought both of the clippings with him. 

"They're the same person." He declared, putting them on the kitchen table. He pushed them towards her. 

"They do look a lot alike, but how on earth do you know they're the same person?" 

"I'm not sure, I just know, he was in the textbooks, so he might be in others." He wondered if he would have seen him before, in one of the other years before this one. How had he noticed him this time? 

"Alright, fine, we'll chase your crazy idea." She said with a smile, pushing a thick book over to him. They got to work, Gwen kept having to look at the pictures on the table. Arthur didn't, because he knew he would know when he saw it. 

And he did, in an old literature book. It was only a drawing, but he could tell. "Look, this is him." His heart was beating hard, he was _excited_ to see this stranger again. It was thrilling, but it also meant there was a man who didn't age. 

"How can you tell? I mean, sort of, but not really. Arthur, please don't tell me you're losing it." 

"No, I swear, this is him." He pulled out his phone and searched up the image, and when he found it, he brought it up and zoomed in as soon as he could. "See? Same bones, same eyes, same ears. Come on, how likely is it that there are three different people who all look like this in completely different times?" 

"What, like Doctor Who?" She asked, he frowned. 

He'd never actually seen the show, but he had heard of it. So after he said good-bye to Gwen, he watched a few episodes. 

Okay, so, it was a little bit like Doctor Who. But this was real life, not a television show. This was actually happening. He printed off a picture of this stranger, and wondered what he should call him. He needed a name, but he couldn't force it. He'd wait, he'd see. 

After school ended, he moved into a little place with Leon and a man he had never met before. His name was Gwaine, who was a joker and a bit of a slut but a pretty decent guy anyways. So he started pinning the pictures he'd printed off on the walls, trying to arrange them by time. Which image was first? Which was second? Leon only watched him entertain his little hobby with vague amusement, while Gwaine jumped on board. 

He'd bring him little things he found, or pictures of the picture, and excitedly ask Arthur if it was him. Most of the time it wasn't, but sometimes it was. 

Pretty soon, he had a wall of bits of paper. Pictures of crowds that he'd bent over for hours, scanning each face until he found him. Eventually he fashioned a string to connect them, starting from one pin to the other. But the most recent picture had been in one of his books, there was nothing else. Though it was harder to comb through pictures in the last couple years, there were just so many of them. Older photographs weren't as common, they were easier to find. They were archived because people thought they were cool. 

He had spent many hours on this little project, on his nameless boy who looked no older than him. 

"You know," Gwaine started, beer in hand, eyes on the crowd. "You should name this guy of yours, I can't believe you haven't yet." 

"I don't want to just slap a name on him," Arthur grumbled, watching the foam drip down the insides of the glass. 

"You've been doing this for months, and he still doesn't have a name. If you're going to be obsessed with him, you're going to have to call him something." 

Arthur shrugged, sitting back in the seat. It was a very good point, the last few months he had been a little bit obsessed with this stranger that didn't age. "I have no idea." 

"Well, he's impossible, isn't he? No one could possibly be alive for that long without aging. He's the impossible man, so why don't you just leave it at that?" 

He grinned, "that works." He replied, taking a drink and resting his elbows on the table again. "The Impossible Man. Perfect." 

But eventually, Gwaine too tired of Arthur's little game. Leon had only accepted it, quietly disapproving in his own kind way. He was never mean about it, never chastised him for it, he only gave him that weird little smile of his and listened politely before turning the subject around. So Arthur began to hide it. He still had the pictures pinned to his wall, he still dedicated a few hours a week to it, but he didn't talk about it anymore. 

That didn't mean he stopped, he still searched and searched. But for the last thirty years, there had been no sign of him. No whisper of this impossible man, as if he had simply stopped existing. 

He met Gwen sometime the next year, they had fallen out of contact. She had graduated and moved on to bigger and better things. But it was summer, and when the days were hot they walked hand in hand together under the trees. He forgot about his impossible man when he was with her, more or less. The pictures were still on his wall, she would sit and gaze at them sometimes. She still thought it was cool. 

The summer ended and she needed to move on, so he kissed her good-bye after they agreed that trying anything long-term wouldn't work. He mourned that he had not dated her when he had been younger, then maybe he'd be foolishly spinning his future around her, instead of a man who lived in pictures on his wall. 

He was starting work now, actual work, the random jobs he had taken this last year had been his way to goof off, have fun, relax and get whatever experience he wanted. He was starting with his father's company at the bottom rung, he could work his way up like his father did. 

So Arthur dedicated himself to that, and his obsession with the impossible man kept falling to the side. He worked many hours and somehow drifted away from Leon and Gwaine. Leon had a girlfriend, he was going to go move in with her. Gwaine was finally settling down with a guy named Percy who took Leon's place. Arthur hadn't even known Gwaine was gay. 

Funny how his life could be summarized in just a few lines, a year passed and nothing happened. He added no new pictures to his wall and Gwaine and Percy stayed together. His life had become a habit, a routine that was carefully calculated and coordinated. 

Until he got sick of it. He'd always done what he wanted, when he wanted it, on a total whim. He hadn't ever thought about his actions before he did them, he moved with the wind and let him carry him along. So he began to experiment, he threw a party with non alcoholic beer and counted how many people got drunk. He went to the bookstore to pick up a used book that he had to finish within a week. He made it a goal to try every coffee shop in town, every bakery, every mom and pop restaurant with friendly staff and warm lighting. He threw another party with the same people who had been at the last one, who were wizened to his tricks. He served them alcoholic beer and tried to see how many people would act sober. It went surprisingly well, until Arthur remembered he'd been drinking that whole time and his calculations were probably out of the window. 

And he did this around his work schedule, using one of his two days off a week to sleep in as long as he physically could. 

It was a Wednesday, book-buying day, and he entered the shop and sidestepped the people in the entranceway. He scanned the books, he had finished last week's easily, so he needed something else. Something that was more of a challenge. One book on the shelf caught his eye, bright red cover, the pages were wrinkled and damaged. He only skimmed the title before he was carrying it to the register. 

"Ah!" The girl behind the counter said. "This one is beautiful! You're going to love it, I'm sure." Her name was Freya, she had long fingers and if it wasn't busy lost herself in one of the books. 

"Will I?" He asked, and eyed her up for a moment before he grinned brightly. "Well, how about once I finish it, I take you out for coffee so we can discuss it?" She turned bright pink, standing still as if Arthur had splashed water over her. He patted himself on the back mentally, he wasn't usually smooth like that but that had come out so naturally. 

"Um, s-sure, I'd like that." But her grin was shy and sweet. He paid, and finished the book in two days. 

He went back to the store after he had finished work, she was there, sorting through a box of books behind the counter. It was a slow evening, Friday nights people would rather party than spend their time in a little bookstore. She grinned when he came in, her sleeves were too long for her and hung to her knuckles, her sweater looked warm and comfortable and he thought he'd rather like to put his arm around her shoulders. 

"Hey," she said, "I was just sorting through some books someone brought in." She explained, there were two boxes on the ground, plus the one she was currently working through. 

"I finished that book." She flushed again, turning away. 

"Well, um, I can't really leave right now, but I-"

"How about I go grab us something to drink, bring it back, and I'll help you sort those books?" He offered, leaning against the counter. 

"I'll call my boss, see if it's okay." She said. 

He returned a few minutes later, hot teas in hand. She told him she didn't drink coffee, but the place just down the road had this fantastic tea. But then she had realized what she was saying and lowered her head, going pink again. 

She had pulled up another chair behind the counter, everything had been rearranged for two. He slid up to the chair beside her, handing her the tea. She smiled at him, "all we have to do is flip through all the pages and sort them." She said, sipping from the paper cup once before setting it down. 

"Why do you flip through them?" He asked, he had already given the tea a try and found it to be quite pleasant, if a little too sweet. 

"Because sometimes people leave things in them. Bookmarks, money, pictures, letters, almost anything you could stick into a book we've found." She grabbed an old worn photograph from under the desk, "I found this one already." It was a somewhat crumpled picture of a girl holding a child in her arms. "It's pretty cool, but the people who drop these off never leave any names or numbers, so we can never return them. I've got a bit of a collection." Her smile was so fond as she put it back in the little plastic container.

"That's really cool." He replied, and they began sorting. They talked about the book, he had thought it was great too. He had never been much of a reader in school, it wasn't until he realized that he was tired of the same old routine that he thought books would be a good answer. And they had led him to her. 

They got through one of the boxes before they found something else. It was another photograph, so Arthur carefully peeled it from the pages, and sat there in shock. Complete and utter shocked. It was the impossible man, his long arm was wrapped around another man's shoulders. The rest of the family stood with him, smiling at the camera. "Freya," he started, she leaned into him then, her arm warm against his. 

"What did you find?" She asked, curiously, scanning the picture. 

"The Impossible Man." He replied, pointing at the picture. "I've seen him, wait." He pulled out his phone, ran a quick search on one of the pictures that was easily found, and showed her. "I've seen him before, in pictures and drawings. He never ages, he doesn't die. I know it's the same person. I know it seems difficult but--"

"I think I've seen him before." She said, taking the picture from him and holding it close to her nose to examine it. "I might have another of him, at home, actually." 

"Seriously?" He asked, almost breathless. 

"Yeah, well, maybe. I'll have to look. But I'm pretty sure, he looks familiar." He wound an arm around her shoulders then, pulling her to his side. She leaned into him, shyly, nervously. 

"I've seen him everywhere, all over history." 

"How is it even possible?" She asked, turning her eyes up to him. Dark lashes, her hair draping over her shoulders. 

"I don't know. But I know it's true." 

She set the picture on the counter. "Let's see if there are any more." 

There wasn't, and after the bookstore closed they set books into the shelves. And, after she had clocked out, they stayed to keep sorting through the books. All they found was a couple Canadian bills and one American. 

By something unspoken between them, she led him to her little apartment and she took him into her room. The walls were decorated with pictures, letters, scraps of paper and bookmarks. There were so many of them, and it made him a little bit happy that he had found someone who collected in much the same way he had. Together, they found two more pictures of the Impossible Man. 

It was getting late, and he had to work early in the morning, so she walked him back to the street and kissed her under the streetlamp. She programmed her number into his phone. She didn't have a cell, only the little corded phone in her home. 

He met her again the next night, and took her home with him. He showed her the pictures he had pinned on the wall, he had already tried to date the three new ones he had added. "This is amazing." She said, "that's definitely the same person, there's no question about it." 

Suddenly, he had a new partner to search with. "Have you thought about any old movies?" She asked, as they settled into the kitchen together. 

"I never thought of that, actually." So together, they began watching. And they started out sitting close to each other, barely touching. By the end of the movie she had her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. They didn't find anyone at first, up until the moment that they did. 

He was in the crowd, they always paused them to scan the faces, whenever there was a crowd. And there he was, standing within the group, all black hair and cheekbones. Unfortunately, there was no way of finding who had been there. But there he was, in a movie that was filmed when his father had been young. 

He took her out to a newer movie, one that was actually still playing in the theatre. He held her hand on the way in, insisted that he paid, and ended up kissing her through most of the film. He'd never actually done that before, acted like love-struck teenagers in the back of a theatre like this. She wore skintight jeans and that sweater he liked so much, her thin wrists decorated with bracelets and bangles. He took her home, neither of them worked the next day. She pushed him into his bed and he put his hands on her waist, under the sweater. She wore nothing else under it. 

He was careful with her, moving slowly, making sure she knew she could tell him to stop if she wanted him to. But she didn't, she just held on tighter, her sharp nails left claw marks down his back. 

In the morning, he cooked breakfast and made her tea. She wore one of his old shirts that fell half-way down her thighs. She talked about the Impossible Man as she flipped through internet searches on his phone. She'd been trying to figure it out, trying to put a name to the face, trying to find out why someone could never die like this. 

Arthur was beginning to move up in his father's business, getting more work, having less free time. But he still spent as much of it as he could with Freya, he still read a book a week. She came over and he went over there, he had drinks sometimes with Gwaine and Percy. He was beginning to realize what it meant to be an adult. He was one by age, of course, but he couldn't say he was one in mind. Not yet, but he was getting there. 

They were together for a long time before it finally ended. And it ached, because Freya had been a part of his life for so long he wasn't so sure how he would be able to function without her. It was hard to say what it was that wasn't working, and though he loved her dearly, he couldn't see himself having a future with her. And she couldn't imagine having a family with him. 

They agreed to remain friends, and for a few months, they didn't speak. He didn't go to her bookshop, he left the box of her favourite tea in the cupboard untouched, until she gave him a call one evening. 

"Hey, Arthur," she started, her voice so gentle over the phone. He missed her. "Look, I was thinking about the Impossible Man. We found that picture in with American and Canadian money, right? So, maybe that's where you should look." 

He grinned into the phone, standing by his front window, overlooking the lights along the street. "You know what? That's a fantastic idea." 

Just like that, she was his friend. It was a little difficult to see her, at first, because he missed her, but they became friends again. They spoke at least once a week, if not more often. But her idea was a good one, so that's what he started to do. 

The night he found it, he thought his heart may have stopped beating. She was the first one he called because all his other friends disapproved of his chasing of some imaginary person. "I found him." He said, breathlessly. "It's a Canadian news channel, he just walked by in the background. You were _right_. It's him, he's there, he's real." 

"How old is the footage?" She asked, he could hear the excitement in her voice. 

"A few days." 

"Wow" she breathed, "what are you going to do?" 

"I'm going to Canada." He said, "I've spent years searching for him, he's right there, I need to find him. I need to talk to him." 

He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. "And it's pointless to convince you otherwise, isn't it? I'm going to assume you'll be leaving soon." 

"Yes, as soon as I can." 

"And I won't be able to convince you to change your mind and wait to get the time off work?" 

"Nope." He grinned, she laughed. 

"Good luck, Arthur, you're going to need it." 

"Thank you." 

Within two hours, he had disassembled the pages on the wall and packed them carefully in a box. He had so many, now, there were so many years of work here, all packed into a box. He called his father that something came up, he needed a vacation and he was leaving in a few days. His father was, needless to say, displeased. 

But he didn't tell him not to. Perhaps his father understood how it felt to chase something for so long, only to finally get to the point where he could touch it. His father must have heard it in his voice, though he knew little of Arthur's obsession with the impossible man, he knew his son was chasing something that had always been just out of reach. No one would be able to tell him not to. 

Gwaine questioned his sanity, Percy just laughed and told Arthur that he had better think of something to say to him when he got there, or he was going to think he was nuts. Morgana, who always knew everything without him ever telling her, called him before he was able to call her and told him that he was making a huge mistake. 

But no one was going to tell him not to. He called Gwen, too, told her he'd seen him. She laughed and told him, wisely, that it might not be the same man. And if it was, that he had been creating this image of him in his head for so long that the real thing might not live up to expectations. 

He left on the weekend. When the plane landed, he was so out of it he went to his hotel room to sleep it off. 

Now that he was here, he needed to find him. He had arrived in the city the little clip had been filmed in, so the first thing he had to do was find that street. If he found the street, he might be able to figure this all out. Back home, he had printed out a screencap of the boy walking in the background. He carried the image with him as he walked, aimlessly, until he saw something he recognized. 

It took him three days to finally find it, a busy street with a great little tea shop along a busy road. He probably looked like an idiot, standing there holding a printed piece of paper in front of his face. 

But this was it, this was the street, he had _found_ his impossible man. He was grinning, sipping the tea and sitting on one of the many benches. This was only half a chance, just hoping that he'd find who he was looking for. If he had been spotted here once, the chances that he'd be back were high. Unless, of course, the impossible man didn't come around here very often. 

He calculated the time of day judging by the direction of the sun, and during that time, he sat in the little tea shop and watched, waited. He became a regular. His order always different. He had abandoned his book-reading in favour of people watching, trying to see the impossible man again. 

It had been raining all day, two weeks since he'd found the street, and he was feeling miserable. Perhaps he was mistaken, he was beginning to question himself. Had this really been such a good idea? Leave his job, his life, his friends, chasing someone who would probably think he was a freak if he ever saw him. Only if, of course, he might never see him. It was a big city, there were a lot of people to sift through. The chances of finding him were getting slimmer by the day. 

He'd stopped in at a pub after his daily waiting, tired and thinking that maybe he should make a friend or two, then he wouldn't be so bored when he wasn't waiting. 

He didn't really meet anyone, but he did have a couple drinks. The bartender was a great guy, a man named Lance who made Arthur laugh. So by the time he was left, the alcohol was thrumming in his blood. 

He walked with his hands in his pockets, side-stepping scantily dressed bar girls and men with their sunglasses perched on their forehead. He was enjoying himself, and as he turned a corner, he ran into someone. He jumped, swaying, reaching out to grab the man's arms to keep them both from falling over. He liked to think that they both would have hit the ground if he hadn't. 

When he looked up, he thought he was going to hit the ground. 

"Shit." He said, his knees felt weak, because the impossible man was a lot more attractive in person. The orange lights above him seemed to catch in his eyes, his ears stood out, his smile was bright and made his eyes crinkle. "You're him, you're the impossible man!" He was a little too loud, still standing way too close and holding tight to his arms. He really wanted this to go better, but he wasn't entirely in control. 

"Impossible Man?" He asked, curiously, his voice was like honey, vibrating the air between them. It felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. The man's eyes were bright with joy, and something else he couldn't quite place. "Look, friend, you're drunk. I'll get you home, yeah?" 

"No!" Arthur begged, breathless. "I've been searching for you for years, I can't lose you now!" 

"Have you?" The boy seemed to stop, as if he couldn't breathe for a moment. "Okay, come to mine. I've got a couch." 

So Arthur went, which might have been a pretty stupid idea if he had been sober. But this was _him_ and he hadn't told Arthur to fuck off when he had grabbed him. But even as they walked, Arthur kept a firm grip on his arm so he didn't lose him. He wasn't going to lose him. 

The stranger led him down a few streets, then into an alley to a glass door. Arthur didn't notice him unlocking the door, only that they were inside and clomping their way up the stairs. He ran his other hand along the wall to keep him steady, he hadn't been properly drunk like this in ages. 

The place was nice, but Arthur was tired now. The drink was taking its toll on him, so when the impossible man settled him onto the couch he couldn't quite keep his eyes open. But he fought against the urge, trying to reach out to grab him. Instead, there was a cool glass in his fingers. 

He woke up a few hours later, mouth dry, head fuzzy, a thick blanket draped over him. He felt around until he found the glass and drank the water deeply. 

He woke up properly a few hours later, there was a thin stream of light shining in from the window. This wasn't a hotel room, he thought as he sat up. This was someone's home. 

It took a few minutes of processing before he remembered, and the noises from the kitchen started up again. Arthur sat up and stretched, there was a dull ache behind his eyes and he was still mentally tired, but there was too much to do. He walked towards the kitchen, and paused for a moment before stepping in. 

The Impossible Man stood at the sink, humming something under his breath. The water was running, the kettle was boiling. "Good morning, Arthur." He said kindly, shutting the water off and turning to him. 

"Morning," he said, almost sheepishly. "Sorry about last night, I guess that was probably kind of.." he paused, thinking over the memories. "Wait, how do you know my name?" He asked, "I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you that." 

"You did mention it, I thought. Maybe I'm good at guessing?" 

Something felt a little strange about it all, but the boy was filling up a cup of hot water and placing it on the table. "Want something to eat?" He asked, voice cheerful, as if he hadn't just been acting a little weird.

"So, you're not asking me why I called you impossible?" He asked, curiously. 

"It wouldn't be the first time. Would, I mean, uh, actually I don't know what I mean. I'll probably hear it again from you, sorry I'm half asleep." 

Another tick on the weird scale, Arthur sat at the table. The tea was how he liked it, and he stared at it strangely. How on earth would a perfect stranger know this? 

"A few years ago, I noticed you were in two pictures. They were taken at least two hundred years apart. I kept looking, and I kept finding you. You were everywhere. How is that possible?" He asked, because that's what he wanted to know. That's what everyone did. 

"I've been waiting." The man said, his back was turned, he was carefully setting the spoon in the sink. "It really does seem impossible, doesn't it? Someone who doesn't die? I never would have believed it myself." He paused, his back still turned to Arthur. He was still now, unmoving, calculating his next words. "But sometimes, Arthur, impossible is the only other option." 

"What's your name?" Arthur asked, softly. 

"My name is Merlin." He said, as he turned around. He was clutching a mug in his hands, he was smiling a tired smile. "And I've been waiting a really long time for this."

"Wait, for what? For me?" 

"For this meeting." 

"So, you planned this?" His suspicions were rising, quickly, this was turning awfully bad awfully quickly. 

"No, this is a happy surprise." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Because I've waited for you." 

"That can't be right." But his head was spinning over possibilities. That, perhaps, this boy had been planning this for a long time. Everyone had access to photoshop, it was easy to produce fake images. It could be possible that it was all faked. Photographs printed on paper could be faked. And the textbooks? They were likely just two different people who looked the same. 

Arthur stood, slowly, "Okay, the game is up." He said, voice shaky. "I've got it all figured out, now, you can't fool me." But the boy looked relieved, he took a small step back. 

"You remember then?" He was almost breathless, eager. 

"It's a pretty intricate plot, actually, how many other people have you lured here? How many others have you tricked into finding you? What do you do to them?" 

"What do you mean?" Concern was rising in Merlin's face, the face he had been studying for far too long. "Arthur, I didn't plot anything." 

"You knew how I liked my tea." He pointed out, "and you knew my name. I know I didn't tell you what it was." 

"I just guessed about the tea." Merlin protested, "and I swear, you did mention your name. You were half asleep, it was when we got here. Please, you need to believe me, because I'm not playing any kind of game, if that's what you're thinking." 

"No, no don't lie to me. I've never met you, how can you know who I am?"

"Because I've _always_ known you." Merlin's voice was strained, as though his voice were about to break. Like he was about to cry. "I know that you hate when the food on your plate is touching, I know you always respected your father, even if he didn't make the best choices. I know you have three little freckles at the top of your left thigh." 

And that, that was scary. So Arthur bolted, picking up his coat from the ground and sliding his feet into his shoes. On the floor, as he fumbled with the lock, he saw a pile of mail. To _Martin Erinson_ , not to Merlin. 

Panic was rising, cold as ice, at the back of his neck. He got into the hall, tugging his coat on as he jogged down the stairs. Merlin was no impossible man, no story of someone he was chasing who never aged, he was a man who had played him, and probably others. 

He ran once he got into the pale daylight of the morning, he felt sick to his stomach. How could he have been so foolish? He should have listened to Leon, to Gwaine, he shouldn't have come all this way. 

When he got back to the hotel room, he began packing his things. He paused at the collection of papers he had brought with him. He felt sick just looking at them, but he didn't know if he could throw them out. Even though the Impossible Man had turned out to just be some sick stalkerish game, he didn't know if he could get rid of them. So he stuffed them into his bag, too, and left the hotel. He got on the first cab and went to the airport. He was paying weekly on the hotel room, he had left the key cards in the hall, a hastily scribbled note that 'something came up and I've got to go, thank you', there were only two days left that he'd prepaid for anyway. No big loss. 

At the airport, he booked a flight for the first plane out of there. Get out of here, go home, apologize to his father and get some more security in his home. 

When he got back home, he still didn't feel safe. He still felt as though there were eyes on him - eyes he couldn't see - watching his every movement. He banged his way into his place, Gwaine and Percy were curled together on the couch but he didn't notice them, simply going into his room and locking the door behind him. 

He fell asleep for a few hours before he finally pulled himself from bed. 

He called his father first, apologized for running off, but that he was back. Uther told him that he was displeased, but that he respected that he was young and sometimes things couldn't wait. His roommates were sitting on the couch when he left his room, still feeling sick to his stomach. Quietly, he told them that the Impossible Man was all just a lie, and that he had been stalking Arthur. He knew things about him that no stranger would have been able to guess. 

Gwaine didn't give him any kind of 'I told you so', Arthur probably would have decked him if he had, but he did tell him that he needed to be careful. 

He borrowed Percy's phone and called Freya. She was the soft voice of reason in all of this mess, telling him that maybe he had acted too soon. He told her that the idea of someone who never died was too appealing to her, she couldn't see what was actually happening. She didn't know why Merlin would have known him already, but she offered to come by with cookies later. 

It was a week before anything happened. A week where Arthur stared nervously over his shoulder. He was walking with Freya when he saw Merlin again. Freya's eyes widened, Merlin held up his hands. 

"I promise you, whatever you're thinking, it's not true. I'm not here to hurt you, I haven't been stalking you, I just want to talk. That's it. Please, will you give me that?" 

Freya's eyes were still wide, she elbowed Arthur in the side. "Talk to him." She said, voice soft. "You need to. At least hear him out?" 

At that moment, Merlin seemed to notice Freya. His eyes turned to her and became misty, like there was something painful there. Arthur wrapped an arm protectively around her, but Merlin made no movements. He only stood there. 

The three of them stood like that for a long time, quietly, and eventually, Arthur loosened his grasp on her. If anything happened, Arthur could overtake him. Merlin was thin, Arthur was stronger than him. 

"Fine." He bit out. "Freya, go home, I'll call you later." 

"Okay, okay, be safe." 

She slowly slid away from him, he stayed where he was until he was sure she was gone. "Tell me, then." He nearly growled. 

"Not here." 

"Why the hell not?" 

"Because there's something I need to show you."

"Like hell, you can show me here." 

"I can't. Please, this is important." 

With his hands still in the air, Merlin walked slowly into the narrow alley between the buildings. He walked backwards, Arthur stood at the entrance of it, calculating the walls and if there was any kind of trap here. But the walls were bare, if there was anything, he'd know. Merlin backed himself into the fence behind him. "Look, you have me cornered. I can't do anything from here." 

So Arthur walked, slowly, towards him. He stopped just before him, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now talk." 

Merlin took a deep shuddering breath, and started speaking. "You know all those stories? About Merlin, King Arthur, the knights of the round table? They're true. They actually happened, a long, long time ago. I'm Merlin, I am magic, and I've been alive all this time. I've seen everything from then until now, I've lived through all of it. I can't die, and if you want proof you can kill me, right here and right now, and I promise you I will still be alive when you're done with me. And you are king Arthur, that's how I know you. That's all I know about you, because we were friends, back then. I was just your servant, so maybe we weren't friends, maybe I've never been more than your servant." Merlin paused, breathing. 

"I've been alive for a long time. I've been waiting, someone told me once that you would live again, one day. I'd begun to think that would never happen, but suddenly I run into you in the street. I knew it was you, as soon as I saw you. I couldn't let you get away, but I didn't prepare myself properly. I didn't explain it as well as I should. I was stupid, but I couldn't let it end like that. I had to find you, I flew out here as soon as I could. But, let me show you something. Because if you don't believe anything else, you can believe this. You have to." 

He held out his hand, Arthur took a step back. What happened next was impossible. Merlin's eyes changed colour, and from his palm a dragon crafted out of sparks rose. It spread its wings and flew in place. When it disappeared, the alley seemed darker than before. 

As hard as it was to believe, he didn't know how anyone could fake that. He exhaled, leaning against the wall. "I don't know what to say." 

Merlin let out a soft sigh, "you're not trying to kill me, thank you." He said, sadly, as if he thought Arthur was capable of taking a life. "I've been alone, all this time." 

"How long?" He asked quietly. 

"Fifteen hundred years. Give or take." 

"Prove it." 

Merlin sucked in a breath, then nodded. "Those pictures, I never meant to be in them. I tried to stay out of sight, so I wouldn't leave a trail. But I guess I slipped up. After awhile, I stopped caring. I went to America, befriended a nice little family. I helped them build a house, they were really kind to me. So there are some pictures of me that they took. Probably a lot of them, actually. But I never aged, I had to leave before they noticed. i can.. change my age, but the life of an old man isn't an easy one." 

There was a spark of something else, then, because he had seen those pictures. "I still don't believe you." Arthur said, softly. "But, tell me about it. You probably have a lot of stories?" 

Merlin smiled, then, and the two of them left the alley. He had spent so many years trying to find this boy, and here he was. He wanted to know more. If Merlin had any darker plans, he wouldn't have flown all this way to find him. 

They stopped in at one of the little shops he liked, and listened to Merlin speak. He had so many stories, so many memories, so many people he had watched die. Before he knew it, it was dark outside, it was getting late. But he wasn't feeling so threatened anymore, he didn't think Merlin was being entirely truthful, only because it was so difficult to wrap his head around, but he didn't think he was lying. He spoke from memory, faded around the edges from all those years but still there, still reachable. 

They parted ways in the street, giving him a small good-bye before he was heading home. He told Gwaine all about it, when he got home. They talked for a long time, it seemed so absurd, so ridiculous, that's what Gwaine thought. But Arthur couldn't help the strange feeling that there was something more. There was something just beyond his grasp, and he couldn't be so sure what that was. 

He didn't plan on meeting Merlin the next day, but after he had finished work, he nearly ran into him again. He smiled a tired smile, asked if Arthur wanted to go for a walk. So they did, and began talking. Merlin knew nothing about his life, only his name and what made him who he was. But he did not know where he lived, where he worked, who his friends were. 

Merlin was eager for the information, and Arthur gave it. They spent the evening walking around like that, and were walking along the street next to a hotel when Merlin stopped. "This is me." He said, voice soft. Arthur hesitated for a moment. 

"You came all this way to find me." Arthur mused, voice gentle. "I've.. got an extra room at my place. I think my roommates would like to meet you. Why don't you come by?"

Merlin's grin was almost blinding, Arthur followed him up to the room and stood in the doorway as Merlin gathered his things. He had surprisingly little, a few changes of clothes and an old water skin, he hadn't seen anything like that in a long time. Curiously, he stepped into the room and picked it up off of the bed. 

"That was yours." Merlin said gently, "though I carried it for you." He stared at it, curiously. "It was all I had, at the time, it was the one thing I couldn't get rid of." 

Carefully he uncapped it, and as he did he felt something. The sun on his face, the smell of horses and a flowery summer. The feeling faded, slowly, as he handed it back to Merlin. He took it, fondly, and slid it away into the bag. 

It was strange taking Merlin into his home, after all these years he had been watching him. Percy was curled on the couch, Gwaine was off fetching dinner. When Arthur told him that this was Merlin, he remained completely quiet for the longest moment, before finally snapping out of it. "So you are real." He said, amused. "Arthur's told me everything, I never thought it was true." 

From there, things got a little easier. There was a brief moment of Gwaine's shouting that Arthur was absolutely insane for bringing this crazy stalker into the house but he didn't stop grinning. So he was joking, mostly, because there was a note of truth in his words. 

The four of them sat on the couches, talking, Merlin was shy at first, before he began to share some of his stories. And after they ate, when the others went to bed, Arthur led Merlin to his room and pulled out his collection. He spread the pictures out across the bed, Merlin picked up each one and told him the story behind each. Why he was there, the exact day, how the air felt on his skin, how he felt during that time. 

The words were too exact, so perfect, Arthur no longer questioned him. The only thing he didn't believe were the parts that included him. It was the only thing he couldn't quite grasp yet. That part was too far-fetched. 

"I could show you where Camelot used to be." Merlin said, voice fond, as he set the last page neatly in the little pile he had made. "Will you let me do that? I think.. maybe you might remember something, if I show you the places you used to live."

Now he was curious, so he agreed, and showed Merlin to the guest room, where Leon used to live. 

The next morning when he woke up early to get to work, Merlin was still sleeping. And somehow, he wasn't surprised. He left a short note for him, telling him that he could help himself to whatever was in the fridge, and that he'd be home in a few hours. 

Work was dull, but somewhat satisfying, like his missing pieces were beginning to come together. But he did believe him, now, he believed him when he said he'd been alive for that long. 

He got home to Merlin sitting on the couch, soft clinking from the kitchen. Dishes, probably, though he hadn't expected his roommates to be home so soon. When the noises stopped, as he was toeing off his shoes, he expected to see someone leave the kitchen. Instead, there was nothing, the house was quiet as Merlin walked over to him. 

Everything Merlin said was so interesting, he listened and held on to every word. And by the time the weekend came, he and Merlin got into his father's car and started driving. He didn't own one, but his father never really minded if Arthur borrowed his. 

Merlin gave him directions, and they started driving. They drove for an hour, over green hills and cloudy ponds. There was an empty field, horses dotting the landscape, surrounded by trees. They had driven down a long dirt path to get here. 

When they got out of the car, Merlin started talking. He walked across the grass and stood there, arms spread. "This was the entrance to the town." He said, Arthur listened as Merlin led. He pointed out everything, he darted around, and wound through the grass along what was, supposedly, once a road. 

"And here," Merlin said, jogging ahead, "these were the front steps." He stopped, turned back to him, grinning brightly. As Arthur walked, he went slowly, with purpose. And for a moment, he thought he could feel the hot heat of the sun on his back, something heavy settled on his shoulders, a breeze rippling his hair that wasn't there. The smell of stone, of smoke, a soft voice whispered in his ear. 

He met Merlin on the grass, standing eye to eye. 

"It fell, long after you died." He said. "They kept trying to build, here, but nothing ever stood. When Camelot was destroyed, the ground opened up and swallowed it. I've gone down there, but there's nothing left. There is water there, now, it's washed every sign of it away." 

His voice was sad as he spoke, Arthur didn't know what to say. There were shadows on his face, highlighted by the rippling faded light of the sun behind the clouds. "This was Camelot, and here," Merlin paused, reaching out to grasp Arthur's hand to pull him along. It didn't suddenly hit him, it rose slowly over him like a wave. But it overcame him, and for a long few moments, he was blind because all  he could see was Merlin standing there, his throat bare, his hands at his sides, thinner than he was now, younger than he was now, his hair a bit shorter. He heard him whisper something, a challenge, his lips quirked into an amused grin. 

Merlin, the one who stood before him, stared at him strangely. "This was where I met you." He said. 

"You called me an ass." Arthur mumbled, but where had that come from? 

Merlin's grin might have been blinding, "you remember." He said, breathless, his eyes looked watery. Arthur was still confused. He sat down on the grass, Merlin had let go of his hand, but sat down in front of him. "You're remembering." He said, still grinning, staring down at his writhing hands. "I knew it was good to take you here, I knew you'd remember. I'll show you more, I'll show you everything." 

Arthur nodded, still reeling, running his mind over the memory. He let out a breath, tilting his eyes to the grey sky. 

They got home, late in the evening. The apartment was quiet, their breath was too loud in such silence. Merlin hadn't lost that watery look, but his grins had faded. He was about to reach towards the lights when a glowing blue orb appeared, hovering in the air. He stared at it, uncertain, trying to place where he had seen it. 

"Do you recognize it?" Merlin asked, his voice was barely a whisper. "I never got a chance to tell you." 

"I do." He replied, reaching out to it. It was warm, wet like water, he could push his fingers into it and they would come away glowing before it faded. "But I don't know where." 

"You were trying to save my life. I'd been poisoned." 

"Poisoned?" 

"I drank it for you, no one else believed me." 

"Idiot." He muttered, unthinkingly, and when he thought he should apologize because that might have been rude, Merlin was grinning again. 

"I didn't know I was doing it, I guess were were connected, even then. I knew you were in danger, so I made it, it was dark and you needed light." 

Though all of this, the uncomfortable memories when he had thought Merlin had tricked him to those soft spoken stories, everything Merlin had said was for him. He was exposing himself in ways he probably never had before. He was giving away details that had been his secrets, easily, for Arthur. All those stories Merlin told him ended up being for him, about him, when they had known each other. In another life, another time. 

"If this is true." He said, "I don't know if I'm the same man you knew." 

"You are." Merlin promised, "you've always been Arthur, nothing could change that." 

"But, you would have changed too." 

"I'm old, Arthur, I've been lonely. I haven't been happy, I've just been _alive_. You can't live as long as I have without changing."

Arthur reached out to him, cupping Merlin's cheek tenderly. No memories rolled over him, Merlin leaned into his touch. "I'm sorry." 

"There was nothing you could have done." 

"I know. But I'm sorry." 

"Thank you." 

"Get some sleep." 

He left Merlin in the hall, no longer wondering, but pondering those fleeting images and feelings. In the morning, Merlin was awake before him. He was cooking while he sat at the table, reading the paper. Arthur only sat next to him and watched as a mug floated over to him. It landed gently in front of him, and he took it without thinking of it. 

It wasn't until after he had taken a sip that he realized just how strange it was to see dishes floating about the room. "Um, Merlin?" 

Merlin grinned, "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice. You always were a little thick." 

"Not nearly as thick as you." Arthur retorted, unthinkingly. Merlin laughed, folding the paper and pushing it away. 

"You're still the same." He said affectionately. "You never will."

Something changed between them that day, the dynamic between them shifted into something pleasant that he hadn't expected to see. They treated each other so differently, a way he had never treated anyone before but it felt so natural. Like he had done it before, and now he was starting to believe that he had. 

The next weekend, they drove down to the ocean. Merlin told him that they had come here once. "You poisoned yourself for me. We both thought that one of us had to die, so you drank both so I wouldn't get hurt." Merlin said as they walked across the walks. "I was terrified." But Arthur thought that it would have made them even. Merlin had drank poison for him, Arthur had returned the favour. 

So he couldn't help but smile as he walked across the stones, stumbling as they moved under his feet. He never really went to the ocean, not since he had been a little boy anyway. There were always too many other obligations he needed to take care of - so coming here with Merlin was nice. 

He wore a long scarf around his neck, the ends of it caught against his ankles as he walked. Eventually, Merlin sat down on the rocks and stared out over the sea, the waves crashing and glittering in the dull sun. Arthur sat next to him. He wasn't so sure he could remember anything, but he didn't feel out of place. It didn't feel like this was the first time he had been here. 

"You surprised me that day. I insisted that I'd be the one to die, but you were reckless. Always so reckless, you would rather give your own life than sacrifice the lives of anyone else." 

Arthur wondered if he would do that now. If he would give his life for those he cared about. It was easy to say he would, but when the time came, he couldn't be sure if he would do it. According to Merlin, he had lived that. He had made those decisions. 

They got up, later, sore from the hard stones and cold from the spray of water. Merlin stumbled on his way up, his scarf trapped under his feet. Arthur caught him by the hand and pulled him upright, then grabbed the edges of the scarf and wrapped them around his neck a few more times; so he wouldn't trip. 

Merlin's cheeks were flushed, the sun was slowly trying to come out. They stared at each other, Arthur was still holding onto the ends of his scarf. It was long and dark red, soft on his palm. He leaned into him, so they were nose to nose, meeting his eyes and hesitating. Merlin smiled, breathlessly, so Arthur kissed him. He tasted like salt, like the coffee they'd stopped for along the way. He kissed Merlin's smile, turning it into one of his own. 

He'd never been attracted to another man before, but this came naturally to him. He had never even questioned it, he had always been attracted to women. But Merlin was different, he drew Arthur in after a bit of pushing and opened his mind to completely new ideas. 

When he pulled away, they were forehead to forehead, breathing deeply as one, trying to catch their breath. "That's the first time you've ever done that." Merlin's voice shook as he spoke. 

"Really?" Arthur breathed, "I find that hard to believe." 

"If you remember everything, you will remember that I never kissed you and that you never kissed me." 

He kissed Merlin again, because he could, because Merlin clung to him in a way that was more than a little desperate. He held him securely, both arms wrapped around Merlin's arms with his hands clasped together between his shoulder blades. 

Their coats made them bulky but there was warmth beginning to gather between them. When they broke away, they just ended up hugging. Holding on to each other breathing. He was beginning to feel everything, now, some long stretch of time, darkness in his mind that hadn't been there before. Another childhood, another version of him that echoed around in his brain. 

It wasn't like the movies, where memories hit full force and unrelenting. It was like there was another brain sharing his skull, this dull pressure inside his head. Because suddenly, there was another lifetime in there too, and he could reach them, all of them. Like the memories of this life, he just needed to think about it and there they would be. 

He had a feeling they had always been there, lurking somewhere in the corners of his mind. That dark blackness, probably the time after he had died, was scary to get too deep into. But beyond it, there was life. New memories and new ideas. And Merlin. 

Merlin loosened his grasp, and that led them to pulling apart. But not away, Merlin had one arm wrapped around him, so Arthur kept one wrapped around him. They walked together, leaning on each other so they didn't fall over on the rocks. They got back to the car and leaned against the hood together, hands stuffed into their pockets for warmth with their elbows linked. 

It was hard to believe that he had never kissed Merlin until today, but it seemed like it was true. He leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw, affectionately. As they stood together, a little warmer now they weren't as close to the blowing ocean, he could pick out little memories, little moments. They were unfamiliar, because he know he had not lived it, but he had, just not recently. 

It was awfully strange to ponder. So he just stood beside Merlin, enjoying the distant sound of the waves and the smell of salt in the air. "I guess your waiting is over, isn't it?" He asked softly. 

"It finally is." Merlin's voice was warm, but they both knew Arthur would die again one day, and after that, he had no idea what was going to happen after that. Perhaps there was some kind of magic that could keep them just like this. But he wouldn't think of that yet, he would hold onto these moments until the time came that they needed to discuss it. Until then, he would hold onto this - onto Merlin. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
